


At His Side

by woolfverse



Series: Woolfverse [16]
Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: 2000s, Arguing, Character of Color, Daydreams, Hugs, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstanding, POV Third Person, Past Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-10 00:56:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woolfverse/pseuds/woolfverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of a Macguffin and the relationship it nearly pulls apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At His Side

The box had sat among Will's things since a few days after New Year's, cunningly hidden in a bag behind his collection of Forester novels: given that Tharkay was merely tolerant of films about sailing in any capacity, there was no safer cache for things than behind a stack of books on the subject. On those occasions when he was alone in the flat, Will would retrieve it from its hiding space and admire its contents, or simply hold it in his hand, idly envisioning the day he might present it to Tharkay.

_That_ had been planned, albeit sketchily, since well before Christmas. It had, in fact, been spurred by Temeraire's acquiring his own flat for uni that autumn, at which point Will realized that he and Tharkay had been living together for two years, and had first made each others' acquaintance over a decade ago. As comfortable as he found their situation--especially with the prospect of living with Tharkay alone, save for occasional visits from Temeraire--it seemed to Will somewhat disrespectful not to make his intentions officially known. They could not be legally wed, of course, but should Tharkay hold similar sentiments (and Will felt reasonably certain he did), they might officially pledge their commitment, if only to each other.

Will refused himself the diversion of making plans until he received the call from the jeweler's, informing him that his order was ready for him whenever he might pick it up. On the quiet car ride home, with the box in his lap and rain drizzling on the windscreen, however, he found he could no longer resist allowing his imagination to drift toward the future.

Over the next week or so, he began to construct the day in his mind. It should be near the end of the month, for it was sometime in the final weeks of January that he and Tharkay had first met. (Will was embarrassed to find he could not remember the exact day, more than a decade later, and was unwilling to ask John or Jane for assistance. As Tharkay's attitude towards anniversaries was laissez-faire in general, he assumed the specific date would not be important in the grand scheme.) He would suggest a trip to Dartmoor, which could not provoke much suspicion, given Tharkay's fondness for the place. They would ramble over the land for the afternoon, and Will would hopefully be able to make conversation without noticeable anticipation.

And then, when it seemed appropriate, he would take to one knee and request Tharkay's presence in his life always. God willing, Tharkay would agree, and would not tease him _too_ much for his display afterward; all notions of tradition aside, it struck Will that such a plea would be best delivered as simply and humbly as possible. (It was for this reason that he tried not to think too specifically on how he might phrase the proposition. He could not justify attempting flowery speeches, or indeed, much more than his statement of intent: that he could not imagine life without Tharkay at his side, and, should Tharkay feel similarly, hoped that they might live out the rest of their days together.)

It was settled, then, and all that was left to him was to wait for a fair day, that he might suggest over breakfast a trip to Dartmoor.

Will had never before so begrudged the winter weather its long stretches of cold, rainy days, of which this January seemed to have more than its usual share. He found himself staring out of windows, whether at home or at school, at the flat grey sky, and willing them to clear--or at the very least, to end the intermittent rain at a convenient hour. Once, to his great embarrassment, Will realized that he had trailed off in the middle of a sentence while giving directives to his students; he regained himself quickly when he realized he was once more looking to the clouds, but as he could blame nothing but his own inattention, the moment weighed on his mind longer than it otherwise might. He could not even confide in Tharkay the occurrence, though he was sorely tempted to, for its explanation would necessarily be filled with holes.

"Is something wrong?" Tharkay asked, and Will realized he had been paused for at least a minute in the act of drying a dish, once more watching the rain hitting the pavement outside. More and more, he had begun to wonder if perhaps a contingency plan would be necessary; as well as he felt he knew Tharkay, he must have some response if it turned that his feelings were not reciprocated in quite the same way he offered them; that consideration had been the bulk of his concern as of late, as well as wondering how one was meant to proceed after the point of proposal, when an official marriage could not follow.

It was not the first time Tharkay had caught him distracted that week, nor the first time he had inquired as to Will's welfare. This time, as each other time, he replied, "No, my dear, all is well," and tried to mask any fluster he felt at being so rudely obvious in his woolgathering.

At some point, Tharkay ceased to ask, which Will first took as proof that he had grown more adept at disguising his preoccupations; he silently rejoiced at it and vowed that no matter his obligations, he would plead sickness on the next reasonable day and put an end to the small worries and wonderings that currently plagued him whenever he glanced outside. When the question--_exactly what is going on?_\--so clearly manifested in the furrow of Tharkay's brow dissipated, however, so too seemed to vanish much of his goodwill. When Will asked him a question, he replied with the practiced nonchalance that generally indicated a depth of feeling far beyond what was spoken. He was distant in bed, though Will did not at first notice; until one night he realized that he and Tharkay had been sleeping side by side for several days without ever touching each other, and he suddenly felt terribly cold.

It was just reminiscent enough of the final weeks before they'd broken up years ago to be worrisome, and Will was beginning to suspect that this time, the blame sat squarely upon his shoulders. He watched Tharkay's face in conversation, hoping to find in it some flash of emotion that could prove or disprove his theory, but Tharkay was too much a master of his own expression for that to bear fruit. Several times, he wondered if perhaps he should forgo his insistence on Dartmoor and ask Tharkay in the comfort of their flat, but it was difficult to give up on such an agreeable plan.

He was considering once more the necessity of binning the entire scheme and proposing to Tharkay right where they sat on the sofa one afternoon, before finding Tharkay looking at him with a queer expression and realizing that he had wasted most of a programme on the telly in debate with himself. With a sheepish smile, Will leaned towards Tharkay, intending to give him a kiss of apology, but found himself soundly rebuffed.

Tharkay's look was one of pure disdain, so much so that Will could not help but start back at so unwelcoming a face. He did his best to mask it, turning his glance back towards the credits beginning to roll on the screen, but he could not entirely ignore the cold twinge in his chest. In all the time they had spent together, he could not recall Tharkay ever responding to an attempt at affection so sharply, nor was he sure what exactly had prompted his reaction. It had been a fairly pleasant Saturday so far, though it was pouring outside with such a vengeance that it felt like a deliberate response to Will's hopes for sun.

He tried not to follow Tharkay with his eyes when he stood suddenly, but it was impossible for him not to. "I am going to get something to drink," he told Will, without quite bothering to look directly at him. "I may need it, if this is expected to continue."

"The rain?" Or the telly, he supposed, for as far as Will could see, they were the only things occurring.

The answer was flat, and no less inscrutable than his previous comments. "No." Tharkay stalked off to the kitchen, from which soon resounded the slamming of cups and fridge doors.

Will winced; he had purposely stocked the cupboards with plastic cups when first outfitting the flat for his and Temeraire's use, but the sound was still agitating, not least because Tharkay was making it. What had brought on this display of ire? Perhaps it was a culmination, of sorts; he had, after all, noted Tharkay's odd behaviour in the last few days, without much consequence. That did not explain what had so ignited it this afternoon, however, nor quite why it existed in the first place. (If he was to blame, his fits of contemplation could not be the only reason, surely; Will had been absent-minded as of late, but quite harmlessly so, he felt, and surely Tharkay of all people could not object to the pursuit of quiet consideration.)

Tharkay returned, cup in hand and expression somewhat sullen. Finding himself both curious at the enigma of Tharkay's anger and beginning to grow slightly piqued himself, Will could manage only a vague, "Pray do not be so rough with the dishes, my dear." He very nearly missed Tharkay's muttered reply; the fact that it was entirely unintelligible to Will's ear helped matters little. "Could you repeat that in English?" he asked, his curiosity winning out over mix of frustration and disquiet, and glanced over at Tharkay.

"I sincerely doubt I'm in danger of shattering a plastic cup, you priggish, bleeding-heart bastard," Tharkay replied coolly, and took a sip of his drink.

Will could only blink and back slightly away in his seat; Tharkay might as well have hit him, for all the difference it would have made. In an attempt to quell the sickening mix of confusion and shock, he scrambled for a reply. "I...Tharkay, what did I--?"

Tharkay cut him off with a bang, setting his cup back down on the coffee table. Will noted vaguely that at least its contents did not splash over onto the wood, still feeling as though he had been pitched overboard a ship without any swimming ability. "I'm leaving." He got up, headed for the coat cupboard, and added, "I'm going for a walk."

"A walk? Tharkay, it's raining," Will pointed out, gesturing vaguely to the window. He could feel his eyebrows coming together in a frown so deep it nearly hurt, though nowhere near the strange helpless feeling of watching Tharkay yank on his jacket with a fury Will still couldn't comprehend.

Tharkay's voice fell to a low, strained pitch. "So you'll admit _that_ bit of plainness, but not what mood you've been in for near half a month." Will's eyes widened; he tried to speak, even to get out his name, but Tharkay turned around then, and Will stopped short when he saw the expression in Tharkay's eyes. He was blazing in his anger, but not only that; he was-- "Don't fucking insult me. When I get back, I'll take my things." --pained. "I'll be out of your hair in a day."

"Oh, Lord," Will breathed, his chest constricting at the sight of Tharkay turning back to the door. He gained his feet in a moment and dashed into their bedroom, leaving a scattering of paperbacks on the floor as he pulled the box from its home for the past few weeks. The plastic bag he had further safeguarded it in was ripped off and left in the hall as he ran back to the entry to the flat, throwing himself to one knee in front of Tharkay, who had neither left nor turned away from the door.

He landed hard, a stinging pain coursing up from his knee, but it was forgettable in comparison to the anguish eating at him: in his preoccupation with finding the ideal situation to make clear his feelings, he had caused Tharkay to believe him ready to end their relationship. Tharkay's hunched shoulders, the agonized rasp in his voice as he promised to clear out as soon as possible, was all Will's doing. His behaviour had been an unknowing snub, but ignorance could never excuse the torment Tharkay must have felt.

The moments of kneeling there, offering in his outstretched hands, watching Tharkay's back for some movement were among the longest Will could recall. He was about to venture Tharkay's name when the man turned around; his face took on an inscrutable cast. "Will, what--"

"Tharkay, would--" Will coughed, glancing away for a moment, glad that his breath had evened as he knelt. Turning his attention back to Tharkay, who was silently watching him, he began again. "Tharkay, would you stay? With me." He suddenly found himself wishing he _had_ considered memorizing some kind of speech, or at least a few relevant quotations, for all the words he might have said seemed to have fled him at that moment. Hoping he did not seem quite so tongue-tied as he felt, he pressed onwards. "I mean--for the moment, of course, _please_, but--also," and and he could not help but pause before, feeling quite naked, he added, "always."

Tharkay slid down against the door until he was seated in front of Will, and took the box when Will proffered it to him, looking at the smooth black satin with a dumbfounded appearance. As he opened the box, Will moved to sit next to him, rubbing his still-aching knee as he looked in at the cuff links nestled in the box with a weak smile.

Even after three weeks of having them in his possession, and months of knowing they would exist, Will could not help but admire the set of cuff links. Gold ovals, edged in what the jeweler had called a rope border, they matched in all ways except the monogram; on one was engraved Will's initials, while the other held Tharkay's, etched in the uchen script of his native language. A matching pair was concealed in the toe of one of Will's dress shoes, the only place Will could think of that Tharkay was even less likely to stumble across.

Tharkay had murmured Will's name, hushed and reverent, but nothing further; Will found himself rambling on, uncomfortable in the silence. "I had thought rings might not be welcome--but should you prefer them, I can return these..." It was not strictly true, as the engraving was custom, and finding someone able to engrave Tibetan characters had been quite difficult, but Will was ready to bring Tharkay the Hope Diamond if only he would stay. "Only, I had wanted there to be _something_\--to commemorate--"

Tharkay looked at him then, and Will could once more feel certain that Tharkay would not reject his suit. He breathed out, feeling shaky but somewhat less troubled, and tried to smile. "I had wanted to ask you at the park. But--" and he gestured once more at the window--"it kept raining."

"Will," Tharkay said, his shoulders slumping. He closed the box, cradling it to his chest with both hands. "I--truly--Will...I am so sorry."

He could not resist any longer wrapping his arms about Tharkay and drawing him as near as he dared. "Then--you are not leaving?"

"Never." Tharkay shifted in his arms, pressing a kiss to Will's mouth. Will pulled him closer, feeling the clenching in his breast subside into warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> This one's set in January, 2001.


End file.
